Wild: The Untold Adventures of Tara Greene and Sharon Raydor
by angerwasallihad
Summary: Formerly just "Tara." It is now an episodic story, with the fun and mildly angsty adventures of Sharon and her oldest friend, Tara. Freestanding, and in no particular order. Now containing part II, an adventure involving pancakes, two near-heart attacks, and a wedding story.
1. Of Gay Bars, Gunshots, and Glitter

**I really have absolutely no idea what this is. Blame yetanotherramblingfangirl and the fact that I'm on vacation this week. It's ridiculous, and I totally understand that. Believe me. **

**Tara**

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

Five years of hearing it, and it still took her by surprise sometimes. Rusty had now been calling her "Mom" longer than he had called her "Sharon." But it still made her heart flutter just a little sometimes, particularly at the big moments.

Like this one.

"Are you sure, honey? I could stay…"

Their voices echoed slightly in the empty room. It was a nice apartment, especially for what he needed. They were standing in the middle of a still-bare living room. There was an old couch Rusty had gotten from a college friend, and several bookshelves Sharon had gotten for him at Ikea. Everything else was still in the boxes piled around them.

"Nah, I'm good. James is coming in a minute to help. We'll be fine."

Sharon quirked an eyebrow and smirked at him.

"Ah. And you don't want me hanging around when he gets here, hm?"

Rusty reddened slightly and rolled his eyes.

"Oh my God, Mom. Seriously. You do _not_ need to be thinking about that. And I don't need to be thinking about _you_ thinking about _that." _

He crossed his arms, still a little red. "Anyway. You literally live, like, 20 minutes away. I'm good."

A little reluctantly, but willing to take his hint, Sharon sighed and swung her purse over her shoulder. "Alright. Well, if you need me—"

"I know." Rusty had already turned from her to open a box, crouching over it.

"And you _call me_ when you get home from the paper on Wednesday," she said firmly to his back. "I want to hear all about it."

"I will."

Sharon leaned down and touched his shoulder lightly. "Say it again," she whispered gently.

Rusty rose and turned to her, a little exasperated.

"I _will._"

She smiled. "Good." She reached for him. "Now come here, before I go."

And he did, allowing her to pull him in for a firm hug. Sharon held him tightly for a long moment, rubbing his upper back and swaying ever so slightly. When she finally pulled back, there was just the slightest glisten of a tear in one eye. She looked up at the ceiling just for a second, taking a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. Her hand came up automatically to brush his hair back from his forehead before coming down to pat his cheek gently.

"I love you." He nodded as she stepped back, towards the front door. Rusty followed her.

"Love you, too." He held the front door open for her, and she started to pass through it, but turned back one more time.

"Rusty, be—" She stopped, swallowing hard and changing her mind. "Have a good time," she whispered and turned away.

The apartment was dark and quiet when Sharon arrived twenty-five minutes later. Of course it was. He did not live here anymore. Only she did. Dropping her keys and bag on the front table with a heavy sigh, she stepped toward the kitchen, flicking on lights as she went, stopping only briefly to hold on to the wall and step out of her heels, picking them up and dropping them onto the couch as she passed. In the kitchen, she made a beeline for the counter just beside the refrigerator, pulling down a wineglass from the upper cabinet with one hand, simultaneously reaching for the open bottle of Shiraz on the counter below. Pouring herself a generous measure, she looked around the apartment slowly.

What was it that she had done in the evenings when she had the apartment to herself, during those years between Ricky's departure and Rusty's sudden appearance? She really did not remember.

Sinking down onto the couch beside her shoes, she reached for the remote and turned on the TV.

She jumped.

Something very large was exploding loudly in outer space, remnants of some spaceship or something flying everywhere. Startled, she instinctively turned the TV off again. Standing up once more, still with her wineglass in hand, she wandered over to her desk and picked up a book. _Atonement_. She had started it weeks ago, but never gotten back to it. She walked back toward the couch, book and wine in hand and lowered herself into one of the chairs this time, setting the wine on the small table beside her. Finding her place, she began to read.

Sharon had been sitting there for barely fifteen minutes when a series of banging knocks sounded against the front door. Loud, persistent, unrelenting. It sounded as if someone was trying to knock her door down.

Jumping yet again, she instinctively reached for her waist, but her gun wasn't there. Silently dropping the book onto the coffee table, she padded carefully over to the table beside the door, upon which someone or something was still loudly banging, and pulled her gun out of her bag. Without a sound, she peeked through the peephole to see who or what could possibly be making such a racket, but there was something covering her view on the other side. Sharon clicked back the safety on the gun in her hand and spun to stand with her back against the wall, parallel to the door.

"Who's there?" She called out cautiously, gun at the ready for whatever might be behind the door.

"It's the Ghost of Christmas Past, Sharon. Now open the damn door!"

"What the—"

Sharon relaxed, gun falling to her side, clicking the safety back on at the familiar but completely unexpected voice. She reached over and turned the lock, swinging the door open to reveal the speaker. Tall and thin with waist-length and wild grey hair, a woman nearly pulsating with energy grinned down at Sharon. She wore long black pants nearly overshadowed by a bright purple blouse and the most wildly patterned long flowing scarf Sharon had ever seen, finished off with an even more colorful beaded necklace and earrings.

"Tara," she breathed quietly. "What the hell are you doing here?" Sharon held up the gun a little ruefully. "I nearly shot you!"

Tara shrugged, unconcerned. "Wouldn't be the first time, now, would it?"

Standing aside to let her in, Sharon rolled her eyes. "Never gonna live that one down, am I?"

"Nope," Tara replied, dragging a large duffel bag into the foyer while Sharon put the gun back in her bag, shutting the door behind her.

"To be fair, it wasn't you, it was your car. And it's not my fault you and what's-her-name decided that would be a good place to park and do… whatever it was you two were doing."

Tara smirked. "What _was_ her name? Jenny? Jamie? Something with a J…" She dropped the duffel bag with a loud thunk to the floor. "Whoever she was, she was worth it. I remember that." She winked at Sharon, who was trying hard not to laugh. "It did sort of ruin car sex for me, though. Getting shot will do that, I suppose."

"It was a ricochet," Sharon corrected, pointing at her in a would-be serious pose. "And it barely touched your car."

Tara didn't reply, just gave her a supremely unconvinced look.

"But what are you _doing_ here?"

The other woman shrugged. "The kid called. Said you could use some company."

"So you just casually decide to take a Transatlantic flight because _Rusty tells you to?_"

Sharon was unbelievably happy to see Tara so unexpectedly, but rather mortified to hear that Rusty had called her. What could he possibly have said to make Tara jump on a plane from _Kenya_?

"What can I say? The kid's got a way with me."

Sharon smirked. "You bought his love, you mean. You know, that hand-carved chess set you brought him five years ago is still his go-to. He doesn't even touch that nice one I got him for his high school graduation anymore."

Tara did not even have the decency to look guilty. "The kid's got good taste." She stepped into the living room, looking around curiously. "So…first night on your own, huh? What're you—" Her eyes fell on the forgotten book and wineglass by the chair, and she groaned. "Sharon, no. You are _not_ spending your first night alone in this apartment with a book." She stalked over to the table and lifted the book to her eyes and groaned again, louder. "My God. It's not even something light or fun. Could you have picked something darker and angstier?"

Sharon smiled and shook her head wordlessly.

"Oh, right," Tara continued. "Who am I talking to?" She tossed the book onto the couch beside the abandoned shoes.

Finding her voice again, Sharon gave her a reproachful look. "I like it. Play nice with my books. And Tara, we are _not_ doing anything crazy tonight."

Tara crossed her arms, collapsing on the couch heavily. "Define crazy."

"Anything involving tequila, vodka, strip clubs, or glitter." She ticked the items off on her fingers.

Tara pouted. "Come on. No glitter is just sucking the fun out of everything. And when have I ever taken you to a strip club?"

Sharon gave her a meaningful look.

"Oh. Right." She had the decency to look sheepish. "To be fair, though, that wasn't a strip club. How could I have known that Ginger was going to jump up on the bar and start stripping?"

Finally, Sharon cracked, a hand covering her face as she giggled. They both laughed for a long time until finally Sharon choked out, "It was a gay bar! In what world was that a good choice to take someone just off maternity leave?!"

"You make me sound terrible! You weren't actually pregnant anymore. And Ricky wasn't _with_ us. Be fair."

Sharon shook her head, a wave of giggles taking her again. When they finally subsided, she took a deep breath and met Tara's eyes on the couch again. "Alright. Here is what is going to happen tonight. I am going to go have a few words with my youngest son, you are going to order some takeout, and then we are going watch whatever terrible movie you want and go to bed."

Tara sighed. "Okay, fine. You win. Tomorrow, though."

"Tomorrow I have work."

"Okay. I can do that, too. Crime-fighting, and all that jazz."

Sharon almost chuckled again, visited by a vivid image of Tara in the Murder Room, attempting to feng shui her office and the detectives' desks. It might be worth it just to see her take on Provenza.

"Come on! I wanna meet everyone from Rusty's stories."

Finally relenting, Sharon sighed. "Alright. But try to keep the meddling to a minimum, okay?"

"I make no promises."

Groaning a little, Sharon pointed to the kitchen. "Takeout. I need to make a call."

She headed back toward her bedroom as Tara called after her, "Don't be too hard on the kid, now!"

Closing the door behind her, Sharon pulled out her cell phone and sank onto the end of the bed. There were three rings before he finally picked up.

"Hello?" There was music playing in the background, rather loudly.

"Hey."

The volume of the music went down as he asked, "What's up?"

"Did you call Tara?"

He sounded puzzled. "Yeah, a couple of days ago. Just to, like, tell her I was moving out and stuff."

Sharon hummed noncommittally. "I see. And did you just forget to mention to me that you asked my oldest friend to fly across the globe to stay with me because I'm lonely and empty without you here?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then—

"Wait, what? I didn't say—whoa, she's HERE?! Why didn't you tell me she was coming?"

Sharon rubbed her temple for a moment before replying. "Well, _darling_," she started, emphasizing the word so it sounded less than affectionate, "had I _known_ she was coming, I would have warned you."

"Hey. I didn't know she was going to jump on a plane! Can I come over tomorrow? I haven't seen her in ages!"

Finally losing her exasperation with him, she smiled. "She's coming to work with me. You don't start until Wednesday, right? Why don't you come down to the office and keep her out of Provenza's hair?"

Rusty chuckled over the line. "Oh, yeah. You're going to need some help with that. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright. Tell James I said hi. Love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

"Holy shit! That guy's face is everywhere!"

Tara's own face was inches away from the photos on the murder board. Sharon was on hold in a corner of the room while Hurricane Tara blew through her squad. She pulled her face away from the board and turned to Lieutenant Provenza at his desk behind her.

"You know, Lieutenant, I think you could really be productive if you were more in touch with your inner self. Before anyone could think to stop her, Tara had pulled the Lieutenant back from his desk on his chair and started moving paper and personal items around on his desk while the Lieutenant sat there in shock for a moment before regaining his voice and beginning to shout.

"Now wait just a minute! I get things done just fine here. And I'll thank _you_" he snatched his bobble head out of her hand roughly, "to keep your paws off."

Thankfully, Rusty rounded the corner at that precise moment and headed them off before Sharon had to intervene herself.

"Tara! Hey! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Sharon relaxed a little, and redirected her attention to her phone call, which was finally taken off hold at that moment. When she hung up a minute later, Rusty was introducing Tara to Amy Sykes. Sharon strode over in time to see Tara closely eyeing something that Sharon was quite sure was _not_ Amy's face.

"And how are we doing over here?" She squeezed Rusty's shoulder from behind while shooting Tara a look that clearly communicated a cease and desist order.

Tara leaned down towards her, mouthing, _what?_

Sharon smiled tightly at Amy and turned Tara away from the rest of the room for a moment, whispering almost inaudibly. "Maybe a little less obvious staring?"

"Oh come on. Anyone can see she doesn't play for my team. I'm not going to _do_ anything!"

"She is a human being, Tara. And she's thirty years too young for you."

Tara merely rolled her eyes as they turned back to the rest of the room.

Amy, seeming to want to gloss over the awkward whispered conversation, smiled and asked, "So how do you know the Captain, Tara?"

Tara ran her hands through her long hair, away from her face and replied, "Oh, you know. The usual. Police shoot-out, a back seat, a couple shots of tequila, and a gay bar."

Rusty choked, next to Sharon, unable to hold back a loud snort and subsequent cackle. Provenza looked at Flynn, who had just strolled in from the back as they both turned red from suppressed laughter, and Amy looked unsure whether it was a joke she was allowed to laugh at. Sharon hid her face in her hands, embarrassed.

Tara managed to hold a straight face for about fifteen seconds before she gave in to a smile.

"No, really," Amy said with a small smile, "how did you two meet?"

Tara winked at her. "It's true."

Finally looking up, Sharon nudged Tara on her other side. "Come on. You have to tell them the whole story."

"Oh, fine. So one fine morning about what, thirty? Thirty-five years ago?" She glanced at Sharon.

"Let's leave that part to the imagination," Sharon said quickly.

"Oh, alright then. One fine morning many moons ago, back when I was but a young and innocent med student—"

Sharon snorted in disbelief.

"—Well, more innocent than I am now," Tara amended to general chuckling. "I was in the backseat of my dear old station wagon with another young lady of irrefutable class and innocence. Jenny? Jill? Whatever."

Rusty and Sharon exchanged an amused look. Tara was always fun to watch, but she seemed in rare form today.

"So there we were, engaged in some of the most mind-blowing, orgasmic sex I had ever experienced, when suddenly a car screeches to a halt beside us, closely followed by the police, and suddenly they are shooting." She sighed mournfully. "My poor little station wagon was never the same. A part of her died that day, when the bullet came through the window."

"Dramatic, much?" Sharon rolled her eyes.

Tara ignored her. "It was a traumatic experience. The ghost of that missed orgasm still haunts me." At this, everyone but Sharon seemed to lose it completely.

When the laughter died down, Tara continued, "So of course, when a young and _completely_ professional officer gave me her number and encouraged me to call if I needed _anything_, well," she grinned. "I sort of have a thing for women in uniform."

Good lord, Sharon thought, she could never trust her to tell an accurate story again. "Should I take over, Tara? Remind you of the actual events that occurred?"

Tara waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, hush, Sharon. You'll just ruin it. I'll tell it er… _straight, _I promise. So, after she takes my statement, I head into a bar across the street to calm myself down, but I drop a twenty as I'm walking a way, and Sharon follows me in. In some serendipitous stroke of genius, I talk her into a drink since she's coming off the clock and seems completely oblivious to the fact that we're in a gay bar. Anyway. Five tequila shots later, Sharon here and I are the best of friends despite that dirty rotten scoundrel of a husband, the fact that she'd never had a shot in her life before, and that at some point a naked drunken lesbian poured glitter on her head."

At this point, the entire squad had gathered to listen to the story, all torn between disbelieving looks towards Sharon and all-out laughter at the mental images.

"I would just like to point out here that I was just coming off of a nine-month dry spell, and completely coerced. The shots were _completely_ your fault. Also, I was twenty-seven."

Everyone laughed, and Sharon reddened a little.

Well, she thought ruefully, there were some things you just couldn't do without ending up friends. A gunfight punctuated by tequila shots with a glitter bomb delivered by a naked woman must be one of them.

**I told you. Ridiculous. But there's always the possibility of more in the Adventures of Tara and Sharon. So. Yes? No? I should be ashamed of myself and never write another word again?**


	2. Of Carpets and Pillows

**Okay, the consensus is more of this. So this is going to be a thing now. Note the change in title to accommodate a more episodic story. I'll continue doing these when I feel like it; they will be independent one-shots, in no particular order, each chronicling a new adventure with Tara. Enjoy. **

**This is placed sometime in the late 1980s, about a month after Jack has moved out, but before any official separation or the gambling has really come to light. He's been on and off the wagon for about the last year.**

**Wild: The Untold Adventures of Tara Greene and Sharon Raydor**

**II: Of Carpets and Pillows [and what falls upon and hides beneath them]**

"Okay, Sharon. That's enough."

The serious, forceful words from Tara brought Sharon back.

"What?"

They were camped out in the living room, Ricky and Emily long ago tucked in, sharing a bottle of wine on the couch. Well, Sharon was on the couch, shoes off with her feet tucked up beside her. Tara was sprawled on the floor, her long dark hair spread around her head on the carpet as she stared up at the ceiling, limbs flung every which way. A mostly empty bottle of wine next to one hand, a half-full wineglass balanced on her stomach with the other.

"You just spent—" Tara glanced down at her watch quickly before continuing. "—yep, twenty minutes telling me that your rotten scoundrel of a husband didn't _mean_ to leave you without a word and twenty thousand dollars in debts he never discussed with you." She turned her head towards Sharon and added, "oh, and just about broke two weeks before the little dude and dudette start the new school year."

Sharon opened her mouth defensively, but before she could say a word, Tara cut her off again loudly.

"UH-UH. My turn." Tara sat up, crossing her legs in front of her and pointing determinedly at Sharon. "He stole from you. Literally. And used you. And just all around treated you like shit. So I don't want to hear about him anymore."

Once again, Sharon started to speak, but stopped herself this time, finding she really did not have anything to say.

"That's what I thought. Now, finish that bottle of wine and stop bullshitting me."

Tara passed her the last bit of the wine and Sharon took it without protest, transferring it into her glass. She contemplated it for a long moment before finally speaking in a low voice.

"Wanna know a secret?" She took a large swallow from her glass, taking her time. "I nearly didn't go through with it. Marrying him, I mean."

Tara did not stop her this time, motioning her to continue through a mouthful of wine.

"I was standing there in the back room of the church with my sisters. And they were searching frantically for my something blue while I just stood there." Sharon took another sip, her eyes boring into Tara's across the wineglass. "And I was looking in the mirror at this person who didn't look like me at all. She was me, but she looked different somehow. This entire life ahead of her, that I wasn't even sure I wanted. And just for a second, I wondered what would happen if I slipped out the back door, white dress and all." She set down her wineglass beside her, sweeping her hair back with the newly free hand. "It's the only time I ever remember really thinking hard about running from something, instead of toward it."

"But you didn't."

Sharon was not looking at her anymore, staring at, but not really seeing the bookshelf in the corner. Her voice was barely over a whisper as the smallest hint of a smile crossed her lips.

"No," she said simply. "I loved him. Still do. In my own way." She looked sad, even with that ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Downing the last of her wine in one gulp, Sharon's eyes came back to Tara once more. "I don't withhold things or 'bullshit you' because I want to keep things from you. I want to keep them from myself." She looked down at her hands as she stopped talking, a little self-conscious.

_Clap. _

_Clap._

_Clap_.

Sharon's head snapped back up at the sound to find Tara looking up at her with an amused expression as she slowly clapped from her place on the floor.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she said loudly to the room as if addressing a great crowd, "I give you… The Amazingly Repressed Sharon Raydor!" Tara cupped her hands around her mouth and breathed into them oddly to mimic the sound of cheering fans.

Sharon cracked a smile, finally. "Oh, come on. I am not that bad."

Tara shot her an utterly unconvinced glance. "I've known you five years now, Sharon, and that's the first time I've gotten anything remotely resembling personal truth." Winking now, she added, "Maybe I should change my specialty to psychiatry. I got the infamous IA ice queen to spill a dark secret…"

"Don't you call me that," Sharon said quietly, throwing a stone cold glare over at Tara.

"It's looks like that that give you such a reputation, you know. And it's not necessarily a bad thing."

"I do. But I like having at least one person over the age of eight who doesn't think I'm Satan's mistress."

The wine was long gone now, most of it thanks to Tara. She guffawed overly loudly at Sharon's words.

"'Satan's Mistress,'" she cackled. "Hmmm. That actually sounds pretty hot." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Do you get a skimpy outfit?"

At that, Sharon rose to her feet. When Tara started hitting on her, they both knew it was time to call it a night.

Tara looked up from her place on the floor mournfully. "Where are you going? Leave your Empress of All Evil outfit upstairs?"

Shaking her head disbelievingly, Sharon held her left hand six inches from Tara's face, wiggling the fingers so that her ring glinted obviously. "Married, Tara."

She turned to the hallway as Tara whispered under her breath, "Straight girls are no fun." Before she flopped dramatically on her back to the floor.

"I'm getting you some sheets for the couch," Sharon called over her shoulder. "You absolutely cannot drive tonight." When she returned no more than two minutes later with a pillow and sheets, Tara had not moved from the carpet.

Seeing Sharon towering over her now, Tara said defensively, "What? It's nice down here. You should try it."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said, dropping the stack of sheets and pillow on Tara's middle before turning on her heel. "Jack and Ricky have both thrown up in that exact spot," she called over her shoulder as she walked toward the stairs. "Goodnight!"

The next morning, Sharon's eyes snapped open to the sound of small feet slapping across the hard wood floor of her bedroom, punctuated by loud breathing. She rolled over slowly to find Ricky pulling himself onto the bed with difficulty, his small arms and hands struggling to keep his grip on the slippery comforter. With a final great effort, he squirmed onto the bed while she watched in amusement, still flat on the bed. He was five now, and getting much too big for Sharon's taste. But still not quite big enough to scale the bed without effort, which was endearing.

Ricky crawled on his knees up parallel to her body before stopping right in front of her face and sitting, legs crossed. A small hand came out and pushed at her shoulder.

Opening her eyes in earnest now, Sharon looked up at him a little sleepily.

"Mama. There's a monster downstairs," he whispered earnestly.

"Oh really?"

"Yes." He pulled on her hand impatiently. "You need to go take it to jail."

Finally giving in to his insistent tugging, she rose up to a sitting position and lifted the comforter off her legs. A picture slowly forming in her mind of what exactly was waiting for her downstairs, she turned and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "I see." Her feet met the cold floor, and Ricky half slid, half jumped from his place on the bed to join her. She held out a hand and Ricky took it. "Why don't we go find out if this monster really deserves jail, hm?"

He nodded and tugged her to the door, leading her down the hall to the stairs and then out into the living room. Just as Sharon had suspected, an oddly shaped lump covered by sheets and a pillow on the couch before them. The lump was rising slowly up and down in time with a loud, nasal snoring sound. Covering her mouth to hold in a chuckle, Sharon looked down at Ricky, who was now regarding the 'monster' with apprehension from behind Sharon's hip, holding tight to her upper leg as his face peeked around her body.

"I'm not sure this monster needs to go to jail, Bud," she whispered. "But let's take a look, alright?"

She slowly inched forward, dragging the still-attached Ricky along with her to stand at the end of the couch. She crouched down to Ricky's level, forcing his hand to drop at last from her thigh and clutch her upper arm instead. Still crouching, she reached over the end of the couch tentatively to remove the pillow now just below eye-level and reveal the 'monster', when suddenly—

_BANG. _

"Mama, can we make PANCAKES?!"

And chaos reigned.

Emily had awoken, it seemed. As loudly and as energetically as only a seven-year-old on the weekend could. Hand millimeters away from the pillow, Sharon jumped. Ricky gasped. Emily barreled into the room just as the mass on the couch rose bolt upright.

Everyone screamed.

Losing her balance in fright, Sharon tipped backwards onto the carpet, Ricky falling with her in a pile of limbs and shrieks. Emily jumped in the air at the sight of the woman still half-covered by a sheet rising off the couch, her mouth hanging comically open while Tara herself cried, "OH MY GOD!" And at long last, managed to pull the sheet off and reveal her face.

Still collapsed on the carpet in fright while her heart pounded erratically against her ribcage, Sharon felt rather than saw Ricky pick himself up from his place on top of her and launch himself at her friend, shrieking, "TARA! It's you!"

Emily and Sharon had not moved, still recovering. A hand over her heart, Sharon closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, still flat on the floor. When she opened them, Tara was towering above her, Ricky hitched onto her back, also looking down at Sharon from over Tara's shoulder.

"Told you it was nice down there," Tara said, smirking.

And finally Sharon laughed.

Tara did not like lying to Sharon. Yes, Sharon had inexplicably become her best friend without warning and truthfulness was important in a friendship like theirs, but there was something else. The way Sharon could practically smell a lie before it even came out of Tara's mouth, and how Tara would be able to _feel_ Sharon burning a hole in her forehead with _the look_. Honesty was a good quality in a person, of course. But it was not called for today. That, Tara was sure of.

So when Sharon called the hospital that morning to ask Tara if she had time for lunch, she lied. If Sharon had any inkling of what Tara was about to do, it would ruin everything. It was not a possibility. Now, sitting behind _his_ desk with her feet propped up over the papers littering it, she found that she could not regret the lie. It was in service to a higher purpose. Tara could live with Sharon's disappointment when she inevitably discovered the truth. It was worth it.

At last, the door swung open to reveal her prey.

Jack Raydor stopped short at the sight of her behind his desk, feet angled across the surface in an imposing tableau. His surprise only lasted a moment, however, before he hitched a neutral expression upon his face and smiled without any genuine veracity.

"Tara. Nice of you to drop by." He pulled off his suit jacket and hung it by the door, attempting to look unconcerned.

Tara's feet dropped to the floor gracefully and she rose, slowly, leaning forward from behind the desk as she leveled a cold stare at him. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

Jack just laughed derisively as he approached, leaning forward himself to bring his face mere inches from Tara's across the desk. His breath ruffled her dark hair and she reeled back at the alcohol stench on his breath.

"Of course. You're drunk. On the clock."

Jack scowled. "Did you come to give me a breathalyzer, or did you want to actually talk?" He sighed, maintaining her gaze without flinching. "I'm not interested in either. So get the hell out."

Tara shifted forward again, putting all her weight on her hands splayed on the desk between them and hissed, "I talk. You listen." She spoke no louder than a whisper, her face once again inches from his. "You can ruin your own life. You can fall into a hole of your own making. You can even drink yourself to death for all I care." She held his gaze, her voice taking on an entirely new level of angry intensity. "But if you drag her down with you, or if you use her even one more time like the parasitic leech of a man you are, I swear to God. _I will end you."_ She stepped back, rounding the desk on her way to the door.

"I'd like to see you try."

Halfway to the door, Tara whipped around at his words. "Make me. _Please. _Give me a reason, and I promise you I will."

Jack didn't reply, only rolled his eyes in an expression of exaggerated skepticism.

"Sharon won't give up on you. It isn't who she is. Not for herself, but for those kids. But I have no responsibility to try." Tara pulled the door open and glanced back one more time before walking through it. "Think long and hard before you do something to piss off every doctor in this city, Jack. Because I won't hesitate before bringing them crashing down upon your head. I _will_ destroy you. And I'll _enjoy _it." She pulled the door shut behind her without another word, heading back to the hospital.

It was another week before Jack decided to push back. Not at Tara. At Sharon. It was her battle, after all. She had to fight it on her own. Or at least, Sharon thought she did.

The kids were still up when Jack came banging loudly on the door that night. It was still early, and a Friday night, and it took longer to get them to bed these days anyway. Not because she was alone now; Jack had never been much help with this part of parenting, the part when they had to say 'no' even in the face of tears and begging. No, it was harder now because of the toll his new absence took on them. You never miss something so acutely as when it is suddenly gone. Jack had never been part of their bedtime routine; but that did not mean that Emily and Ricky did not miss him.

But for Jack to finally show up drunk and erratic on the front step was not helpful.

At _all._

"_Daddy!"_

Sharon managed to hook an arm around Ricky and catch him before he went flying past her and into the inebriated Jack.

"Honey, Daddy can't stay. Go upstairs with Emily and I'll be there in a minute. Go on." She pushed him gently toward the stairs to their right, and Emily followed, passing Ricky and leading the way to the second floor, all while Jack stood behind Sharon, watching them and calling out a slurred farewell.

When she was confident that their children were out of sight, Sharon turned to him just inside the doorway.

"Why'd ya do that, Shar'n? I came to see them!" He sagged against he wall as he spoke.

Sharon inhaled deeply with her eyes closed for a moment. Slowly, quietly, she began to speak. "We have an agreement, Jack. Wednesday afternoons and two Saturdays a month. But more than that, this—" she gestured at his general state of drunkenness "—is not appropriate."

Jack sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. I forgot. The Ice Queen never learned how to have a good time." He reached forward and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, tugging her toward him. "I could remind ya, you know."

Eyes widening in fury, Sharon wrenched her arm from his grip, no longer able to keep a level tone. "Go. Now. Sober up, get to a damn meeting. Out of this house right this minute." She opened the door, pushing him out of it. The action seemed to take him by surprise and he seemed unable to respond for a moment. So Sharon continued, loudly now. "And you stay sober. Or you won't see those kids ever again, I promise you." A cab was still idling in front of the house, and she pushed him toward it roughly. "Goodbye, Jack," she said firmly before closing and bolting the door behind him, hard.

Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes as she slowly trudged up the stairs toward her children, but she refused to allow them to fall. Not yet, anyway. Ricky was in Emily's room, already half asleep with his head on her lap as she read to him from a picture book in her small hands. As Sharon entered, Emily closed the book and set it aside. At seven, Sharon knew that Emily was old enough to understand at least part of what was going on, and what had happened just now downstairs. But Emily did not say anything. Not for a long minute while Sharon brought the sheet and comforter up to cover both her children in the small bed, deciding it wasn't worth waking Ricky when they both looked so comfortable.

Finally, Emily looked up at Sharon slowly and asked, "Is Daddy coming home?"

Still keeping her tears in check, Sharon shook her head. "Not tonight," she whispered before kissing them both on the head and turning out the light.

Out in the hallway, a lone tear coursed down her cheek. She blinked slowly and wiped it away a little impatiently. She stopped on the way to her own bedroom and a shower, pausing in front of the phone hanging on the wall there. After a few seconds, she made up her mind and reached for it, dialing from memory quickly. Sharon was not actually sure if she wanted the person on the other end to pick up. She was not sure she even wanted to talk. Until seven rings later and the answering machine picked up, that is. Her disappointment told her all she needed to know. And it was nearly devastating.

"Hello, you've reached Tara Greene. I'm clearly off having more fun than you are at the moment, so leave your name and number and I'll get back to you."

_beep._

Half-laughing, half-sobbing at how accurate and topical the message was tonight of all nights, Sharon took a deep breath before speaking softly into the receiver. "It's Sharon. I… You were right. I know who he is now. He's not… I can't…" She sighed heavily. "I just needed you to know that. Talk to you soon. Bye."

The shower was cold, but Sharon barely noticed. She stood under the stream of water, still and silent until she realized she was shivering.

And somehow, inexplicably, sleep found her.

Her eyes opened slowly in the early morning light, and Sharon rolled over in the bed before her back ran into something solid. Her eyes widened in shock and she sat bolt upright in the bed, letting out a small shriek. Turning to find the culprit, her hand over her pounding heart, she relaxed.

Tara was stretched over half the bed, her head once more under a pillow with a few dark strands of hair peeking out. One arm was flung over the edge of the bed, along with a foot off the end. She stirred as Sharon watched, probably roused by Sharon's sound of surprise. Her face appeared, slightly obscured by disheveled hair.

"What?" she murmured sleepily without quite opening her eyes.

"You have got to stop doing that," Sharon whispered, smiling slightly.

"Hm? Sleeping? I'm not a doctor…oh wait. I am. So yeah. Sleep is not optional." Her eyes were open now and she winked up at Sharon.

"Giving me a heart attack first thing in the morning." Sharon shook her head disbelievingly. "What are you doing here?"

"Dirty rotten scoundrel. Message on my machine. Spare key in the planter. And you looked in desperate need of an invasion of personal space."

"Of course I did," Sharon replied sarcastically.

Tara finally sat up next to her. "So you gonna tell me what happened?"

"Later," Sharon sighed, already hearing small feet hurrying down the hall outside her door. "I promise."

**A little more serious than that earlier silliness, but still fun, I hope. Let me know what you think and any other ideas you might have for more such adventures! **


End file.
